


Chrono Convergence

by TheWorldEndsWithNu



Category: Chrono Trigger
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-11-13 22:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWorldEndsWithNu/pseuds/TheWorldEndsWithNu
Summary: After defeating Lavos, Crono, Lucca, and Marle return to their time to discover that everything is not as they'd left it. With Porre mobilizing for war against Guardia, the three friends must determine whether they're ready to sacrifice all they hold dear to save their present, their kingdom, and their loved ones.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All Chrono Trigger characters, settings, and events are property of Square Enix. 
> 
> A few years ago I started working on an original novel, even bringing the first chapter to a writing group. After listening to other members' comments, I realized that I was over my head--I'd never worked on a novel before, and while I had style and syntax down, I needed to work on plot, pacing, and characterization. Somewhat disappointed, I shelved the marked up manuscripts for a while, hoping to come back to them with a clearer mind.
> 
> It just so happened that I had also just finished playing Chrono Trigger for the umpteenth time. As the final screen came on my TV, I thought, "what happens next?" I wondered whether it was possible to travel through time without making small changes that would affect the timeline and alter their present. Would things really be the same? I was somewhat familiar with Chrono Cross and liked its exploration of consequences, of how the trio's travelling through time had messed things up, but I wanted to explore that from their perspective in more detail. So this is my version of the story. I call it my practice novel. It's canon-compliant to Chrono Trigger but varies from Chrono Chross.
> 
> The whole novel has been outlined, and I plan on finishing it. It has been self-edited, so I welcome constructive criticism. I hope you enjoy!

The Porrean envoy arrived early that morning, their movements watched by the rising sun and two pairs of eyes. The observers stood on a craggy hill on the outskirts of Guardia Forest, looking below at the haze of dust from the twenty or so mounted riders in uniform trotting down the main road.

One of the onlookers, a teenager, took off her glasses, wiped them with the hem of her tunic, and put them on again. She squinted in the sunlight. “Interesting,” she said, plopping down onto the ground. She pulled out a notebook and began to scribble in it.

Her companion bit into his apple and chewed contemplatively. “What’s interesting? People from Porre come all the time.”

“That’s not what’s interesting. Look closer,” the young woman said without pausing her writing.

Shielding his eyes with his unoccupied hand, the young man focused on the scene before him. The score of riders wore the dark-green military uniform of Porre, their helmets glinting. Even their horses had been decked out in full ceremonial dress. Three figures rode at the front, the one in the centre slightly ahead of the other two, who held back in deference. But based on the leader’s stature, it couldn’t have been the mayor; the figure was too tall, the posture too stern. The leader had a military bearing that impressed the teen. 

It took a few more seconds of observation before a detail wormed its way into the boy’s mind. The red and gold flags were missing. “Lucca,” he said, tossing the apple aside and moving a few steps forward to get a better view. “They aren’t carrying Guardia’s insignia.”

Lucca placed the notebook in her satchel and stood up, wiping wet grass from her shorts and tunic. “No, they’re not,” she said. “Crono, I think something’s happening in Porre that concerns us.”

Crono and Lucca watched in silence as the envoy reached Guardia Forest and disappeared into its maw. It wasn’t until the birdsong came back that the teens shifted, looking at each other to get a read on the other’s thoughts. Lucca finally broke the silence. “I’m going to head back home to check on something. Crono, you wait here for Marle and see if she knows anything about this.”

Crono scratched the back of his neck. “I doubt she does. She probably wouldn’t have suggested meeting today if she knew that Porre was coming. She’d be expected to attend, wouldn’t she?”

“Most likely.” Lucca frowned. “I’ll have to remember to add that,” she muttered.

“Add what? What are you writing down all the time, anyway?”

Lucca shifted slightly, looking in the direction of the castle. It stood darkly against the powder blue sky, its right side gilded by the rising sun. “Ideas.”

“What’s with all the mystery? Usually you like sharing your ideas,” Crono said, crossing his arms and studying her.

Lucca pushed her bangs back and put on her helmet. “You should know by now that I only share my ideas once I’ve had a chance to test them and draw conclusions. This is simply a hypothesis. I could be wrong.”

Crono grinned. “Can I get that last part in writing?” He winced as a pebble bounced off his forehead. “I guess not. All right, go already. We’ll meet up later.”

Crono sat in the shade long after Lucca had run off. He stared at the scenery and let his mind wander over what had happened. Lucca often acted oddly; even she admitted it. But lately her obsession with observation and notation had become somewhat concerning. The other day she had almost missed the bridge connecting Ashtear Island to the mainland because her head was bent over her notebook. And why did she think the Porrean visit concerned them? She could be infuriatingly cryptic at times.

His mind and body itched with the inactivity and uncertainty. Occasionally a traveller or trader would appear on the main road and catch his attention. Each time he wondered what their story was, whether he’d met their ancestors during his travels through time. They reminded him that while he simply sat there, countless others were going about their day in Truce: baking bread, fixing shoes, serving customers, and countless other chores. He tried imagining himself going back to how things had been before he’d jumped into that portal at the Millennial Fair—doing odd jobs for neighbours, spending his days lazing by the beach, and helping Lucca and Taban with their inventions. While it hadn’t been the most exciting life, he’d generally been content. Now these images of his potential future seemed colourless and dull. 

When Nadia’s Bell rang the eleventh hour, Crono sighed. It was much too nice a day to get melancholic about life. He stood up and stretched. It seemed like Marle wasn’t coming, after all. This wasn’t unexpected, but his mood still dipped with disappointment. Even though Marle and her father had worked out an agreement in which she promised to attend to her royal duties in return for more freedom, some last-minute event or obligation often made it difficult for her to leave. Crono suspected the Porrean envoy had put a wrench in their plans today. 

He ignored the flicker of doubt. He knew she was still in the castle, safe. If she’d been attacked in the forest, he would have sensed her using her magic to either defend herself or set off their signal. No, it seemed like Marle would have to be Princess Nadia today.

Looking into the forest, Crono fingered the crossbow he wore at this belt. So long as he was there, he decided he may as well hunt and make some extra money.

The air felt cooler as soon as Crono walked into the shade beneath the trees. The forest glowed somberly. The trees, heavy with leaves, shielded the forest’s inhabitants from most of the sun’s rays, but beams still punctured the foliage here and there. Insects twirled drunkenly in the gauzy light. Although he couldn’t hear or see any other large creatures about, the area pulsed with life. Leaves whispered to one another as mice skittered their way across the tree roots. Crono stopped in the middle of it all, breathed in deeply, and let himself sense everything. Dying made one appreciate all of life’s little details.

A branch cracked to the north. Based on the sound, it was only a few metres from where he stood. Crono inwardly cursed and unhooked the crossbow from his belt, shifting the weapon awkwardly in his grip. He cocked the bow and loaded a bolt into the rail. As he stepped lightly toward the noise, he went over Marle’s advice again. Keep the finger light on the trigger. Keep the grip firm and the thumbs away from the crossbow forearm. It was a clumsier option than Rainbow, but the kills were cleaner and brought in more money.

Moving slowly through the trees, Crono stalked the creature. After a few seconds he caught a glimpse of a green imp clutching a squirming squirrel in its clawed hand. It finally stopped at a small clearing and, plunking itself on the ground, bashed the animal against the rock. Then it began to feast, tearing into it so fast that viscera flew from the body.

Crono sighted with the bow. He didn’t feel guilty for what he was about to do. Given the chance, the imp would do the same thing to his own body. The Guardian troops had tried many times to drive all the monsters out of the forest, but they’d been unsuccessful. Crono suspected that part of the reason why they’d given up was because the creatures served as another line of defense for the royal family, although it did prevent merchants from travelling to the castle town alone. People were technically not allowed to hunt on royal grounds, but everyone turned a blind eye when it came to the monsters in the forest. A stag would get you a week’s stay in the jail; monster parts and skins would earn you money from the apothecary and tanner.

As the imp dipped its head again, Crono exhaled and pulled the trigger. The bolt released with a thwang and buried itself into the imp’s neck. The creatures gurgled once and then went limp, dying immediately, for which Crono was relieved. Squatting, he went to work, harvesting as many parts as possible. His hands moved steadily with the ease of muscle memory. He almost allowed his mind to drift again but then reined it back. It wasn’t smart to daydream in the forest when you were alone.

Wrapping up the parts in several small bags, Crono placed them in the large satchel he usually carried with him. He glanced down at his shirt and sighed. Although he’d been careful, purplish blood specked the front. His mom certainly wasn’t going to be happy—apparently blood was stubborn to get out. He wiped his hands on the grass and stood, looping the satchel once again over his shoulder.

When Crono finally decided to leave the forest, his shirt somewhat bloodier and his satchel heavier, the light had become even more muted than before. He climbed a tree and poked his head above the branches, the wind ruffling his hair. The sun had already travelled across the sky and hovered over the cathedral’s ruins. It had to be mid-afternoon. 

Crono shimmied down the trunk, jumping the last few metres. As he walked back, he tallied his kills. Four imps, six hetakes, and two avians. Not bad for this time of year. Usually the monsters began to prepare their winter dens and roosts, but perhaps the warm weather made them—

An object jabbed him in the back. “You’re mine now,” said a voice near his ear.

Crono slowly raised his hands in surrender. On an internal count of three, he swung around and swiped his left arm across, knocking the weapon aside. With his other hand he grasped his assailant by the waist and pulled the cloaked figure close. Without pausing, Crono dipped his head and kissed her.

His attacker put her hands on his shoulders. “How did you know it was me?” Marle said.

Crono pulled away to pick up her unloaded crossbow. “You’re terrible at disguising your voice,” he said, offering it to her. “Plus, the next time you want to attack someone, don’t wear your favourite perfume.”

Marle giggled. “I’d make an awful spy, then.” She pulled off the hood of her cloak and accepted her crossbow with a smile. She regarded Crono’s appearance with curiosity. “Successful day, I see.”

He nodded. “I was just about to go home to change and sell what I got. Want to come along?”

Marle's smile grew larger and more dazzling. Being caught in its path was like being outside on the first nice day of spring. “Of course! I don’t have too much time, but I’ll stay for as long as I can.”

Crono wiped his hand again on a clean part of his tunic and offered it to her. She took it, and they began walking down the main path together toward Truce.

A clanking from behind them caught their attention. Marle tugged on Crono’s hand, and they sprinted off the path into a thicket of bushes. Crono grasped the end of Marle’s cloak and lifted it, ducking underneath to hide his bright hair. 

A few seconds later the Porrean convey burst into the area. While they’d been stately this morning, they know rode as though dozens of imps chased after them. The horses reared their heads back, their eyes and nostrils wide as their riders spurred them on. The mysterious figure rode at the front again, leaning over his steed’s neck. A mask decorated with dark feathers covered the top half of his face. The air around Crono seemed thick with nervous energy. 

The riders thundered by, their hooves spraying loam. They disappeared almost as quickly as they had appeared, but Crono’s feeling of unease stayed long after the envoy had left his sight. After waiting another minute or so to ensure there were no stragglers, Crono dropped the cloak from his head and untangled himself from the bushes’ branches, which clawed at his clothing. Feeling this was as appropriate a time as ever to ask the question, he turned to Marle. “What was that all about? Why did the Porreans visit today?”

She stared down the path the Porreans had taken, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she said. “Daddy wasn’t expecting anyone from Porre this week. I was just about to leave to meet you and Lucca when they arrived. As soon as they entered the castle gates, Daddy asked me to stay inside my room. He looked so concerned, I didn’t have the heart to fight him on it, even though I wanted to.” Only a slight bitterness tinged her voice. She was trying with her father, Crono knew. It involved a lot of compromising, but Marle had told him she didn’t want to lose her father again. She didn’t have that many family or friends, so she treasured those in her life even more so.

But in the end she’d still disobeyed her father. “So why were you allowed to leave now if they were still at the castle?” he asked.

She blushed. “I didn’t exactly wait for permission. My patience has limits, Crono,” she said when he raised his eyebrows at her. “I waited all morning, but nothing was happening. I couldn’t go down to participate in whatever was going on, and no one came by to order me to do anything. I was bored. After a while, even Constance stopped checking up on me, so I left.”

Crono froze. “Marle, they’re going to think that the Porreans kidnapped you.”

She giggled. “No they won’t. I wrote Daddy a note saying where I went. He probably won’t be happy, but he won’t worry if I’m with you.” The smile slid from her face as she regarded Crono’s grim expression. “Don’t let it bother you; it’ll be okay.”

Nodding once in response, Crono tried to relax his face. “I’m not so worried about that—well, I am, but Lucca said something this morning that’s making me think we have bigger things to worry about.”

“The Porreans?” Marle waved her hand vaguely in the air. “They probably just needed help with some domestic issue.”

“It seemed more important than that.” Crono paused, unsure of how to put his worries and Lucca’s behaviour into words. “She said something about how Porre’s visit could concern us. She’s also been writing down a lot of notes lately, sometimes at the most random things. She mentioned testing a hypothesis and ideas.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Marle said, “we could visit Lucca after you’ve finished your business and get her to tell us what she’s doing. You know how persistent I can be.”

Crono smirked. “Persistent, or stubborn?” He laughed and dodged to the side as Marle tried to pinch him.

They’d left the forest by this point, and the wooden arch signalling the outer limits of Truce was now within view in the valley below them. Crono could see the bright rooftops in the distance, the serpentine trails of smoke from outdoor cook fires and stoves. Even up where they were, the air carried the faint spiced smokiness of roasting meat.

A group of young boys played with wooden swords just beyond the town boundary. A few ran after each other or duelled, their weapons clacking against the others and thudding against bodies. Three boys stood near the road, their swords out and faces set in stern watchfulness as they guarded their town. As Crono and Marle walked closer, all of the boys stopped playing and watched them, their eyes wide or mouths open with curiosity. 

Crono had taken Marle’s hand again, but he let go as soon as he noticed the boys. Marle pouted and tugged the hood of her cloak over her face, casting most of it into shadow. “I wish for once we could just walk together without having to hide. I take it you still haven’t had a chance to talk to Daddy?” 

The boys now followed them, not even trying to hide what they were doing. Crono tried to ignore them but couldn’t help but feel their eyes on him. It made his skin crawl to be watched like that. They did this often, watching and following him without saying a word. They were too intimidated or scared to talk to him, but they wanted to see what he’d do next—whether he’d kidnap another princess, perhaps. 

He pushed them out of his mind. He had something more important to consider. “No. It seems like he’s always busy when I ask to meet with him. The one time I did see him, he had to leave before I could get one sentence out. I know he’s the king and has more important things to do than talk to me,” he said, anticipating Marle’s response as she opened her mouth, “but this is also kind of a big deal to me.” He stopped and turned to face her. He wanted to put his arms around her but couldn’t, not in the middle of town with a group of boys watching and other people walking past. “I want us to be together for real, not sneaking around without getting your dad’s approval. Call me crazy, but after almost being executed for disappearing with you at the fair, I want to make sure he’s on board with us being more than friends.” He scratched at his ear. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t suspect it already.”

“I’m sure he does,” Marle said. They’d reached Crono’s house by that point, but she hesitated before following him to the door. “I just think he’s having a hard time getting used to the fact that I’m growing up. I’m all he has left of mother, and he probably finds it difficult admitting that there’s someone else besides him in my life that I care deeply about.” She placed a hand on his arm. “He likes you. Just give him some time to get used to the idea.” She paused and hummed briefly in thought. “And you’re right about him being busy. He’s been pretty distracted lately.”

They stood at the threshold, close enough to each other that the magnetic pull of Marle’s presence was almost too much for Crono. He’d been caught in her current since the day they met, when he followed her around the fair and into the past. He’d never been able to keep his distance, and now her exuberance and unflinching positivity nourished him like grass taking in the rain after a drought. 

With much reluctance, Crono skipped awkwardly to the side and opened the door for Marle, gesturing for her to enter. “Mom, I’m back,” he called, but he only got the croaking meow of one of his cats in return. “Wait here a minute,” he said. “I’m just going to change.”

He ran upstairs and quickly doffed his shirt. After wiping away the sweat from his chest and face with a wet washcloth, he grabbed the nearest clean tunic and put it on. He walked back downstairs to find Marle sitting on the couch with both cats, Honey and Mustard, curled up next to her, purring like furnaces as she pat them. She swung her legs happily in return. 

Leaning against the wall, he smiled and watched, imagining for a moment that this was his life. A life spent coming home to a comfortable house and a warm embrace. To someone who saw him for who he was, not for what he’d done. To someone who was an adventure herself. It was almost too much to wish for.

Her hands stilled, and she looked up at him and grinned, breaking his thoughts. “You’re lucky Daddy won’t let me have a pet, Crono,” Marle said, scooping up Honey and hugging him tightly, “or else I’d take one of your cats for myself. And they seem to like me.”

“Of course they do—you give them more attention than they deserve.” Crono teased Mustard with a finger. The cat leapt up and hissed, swiping its paw toward Crono’s hand. Honey, nose twitching in the air, leapt down from Marle’s lap and approached the hunting satchel eagerly. Crono picked him up and placed him back on the couch. “No way, don’t even think about it. This is going to pay for your dinner, you ingrates.”

He paused, unsure of how to go on. “Look, Marle,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “I should probably go sell these parts before they go bad.” The lack of invitation hung thickly in the air. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want her to come along—he always enjoyed her company. It just seemed jarring to have her witness his real life in Truce, to have her watch his actions and those of the other villagers with her wide eyes and innocent curiosity. The whole experience was new for her, and viewing it through her eyes made it seem trivial, even though he knew she thought village life was fascinating.

She saved him from further embarrassment. The corners of her mouth twitched down. “It’s probably better that I stay here. I don’t want the guards to see me, considering I left without permission. I’ll keep the cats company.” She began to pet them again. “I’ll wait here until you come back, and then we’ll go to Lucca’s together.”

As Crono left his house, he seemed to hear the seconds tick by as though with a countdown clock. He was less afraid of Lucca withholding information than he was of her confirming the one thought that, until now, he’d managed to ignore. But as the memory of the Porreans and the strange masked figure galloped through his mind again, it wiggled its way to the forefront of his consciousness.

They’d changed things.


	2. Chapter 2

The general store had a lineup of customers when Crono walked in. He joined the end, leaning slightly to the side to count the number of people waiting to pay for their goods. The couple directly in front of him turned to glance at the newcomer and abruptly stopped talking when they recognized him. Spinning around as though guilty at being caught, they began whispering to each other, the woman’s head swivelling every so often to look at Crono from the corner of her eye.

Crono’s scalp itched from the glances. Trying to ignore them, he scanned the room as he waited. Usually the numerous shelves and bins strained under the variety of goods for sale: sweet-smelling fruit from Porre, wheat and oats from Choras, hearty root vegetables from northern Guardia, and spices from Medina, which Crono remembered hadn’t been as easy to acquire in the past. The other past. Now the shelves looked as though they hadn’t been stocked in a while, with some items so scarce that Crono wondered if he wasn’t the only supplier Fritz’s father was expecting today.

Other townspeople shopped, pushing their way through to beat others to the things they needed. Some of the price signs had been ripped by the jostling. Behind the counter Fritz, his wife Elaine, and his father rushed to and fro, taking money and bagging items. It was going to be a long wait.

An older lady not in line squinted at the few pears left in their bin. “These pears are all bruised. Don’t you have more?”

Fritz wiped the back of his hand against his brow. “No, that’s all we have left. There haven’t been any shipments lately.” He gave another customer her change. “We have plenty of apples, though.”

The woman harrumphed but made her way over to the apple bin. As Crono followed her with his eyes, a pattern began to emerge. The shop was also short on honey, limes, grapes, and jerky—all food mostly imported from Porre, with its warmer climate. He hadn’t realized the shortages were that bad. When was the last time Porre had sent over a delivery to Guardia?

Someone tapped Crono’s shoulder. Fritz stood at his side, his expression weary. “Hey, Crono. You here to deliver some meat and monster parts?” He gestured to the long lineup and browsers. “I don’t know when this will let up—it was madness all day yesterday too—but if you want to wait, my dad’ll be with you in a bit.”

Thinking of Marle back at his house, Crono felt a flicker of impatience but tamped it as best he could. It wasn’t Fritz’s fault the store was busy. “No problem. I’ll just browse,” Crono said, thumbing toward the weapons display. Fritz twitched his head gratefully and sped off to deal with an argument between the old lady and another customer at the apple stand.

Crono perused the swords chained to the wall. None came close to matching Rainbow, but he could still appreciate a finely crafted weapon. As he studied a thin sabre meant for duelling, he heard the market door open. A line of young men not much older than Crono walked in, their steps broad and confident. They all wore tunics stitched with elaborate patterns in different colours, and they were followed by tired-looking servants wearing the same hues as their masters. Noblemen. 

The customers quieted as they ceased their activity to look at the disturbance. Crono’s fists clenched involuntarily.

A tall man with wavy chestnut hair led the pack. He sauntered over to the counter, the crowds parting for him. “I need a couple of tonics, and I hear this is the only place in the area that still has them,” he said, his tone slightly disbelieving as he looked over the store as though it was covered in dirt. “Bag up ten for me.”

Fritz gave an awkward bow, his body stiff. “Of course, milord. I’ll just finish serving this customer and then will get you the tonics.”

The nobleman turned from his surveillance of the store. “Perhaps I was talking too quickly. I need ten tonics.” His eyes lingered on Elaine for a long moment as she came out from the back carrying more goods. “Or if you’re too busy, perhaps she’ll be more than willing.”

Fritz flushed. His customer hastily dropped her coins onto the counter and scurried out. The others went back to their shopping but did so quietly, keeping their eyes away from the group of noblemen but their ears open.

Knowing Fritz couldn’t defend himself for fear of losing business, Crono walked over and stood against the counter, one hand tapping a beat against the wood while the other rested against Rainbow’s hilt. The nobleman eyed him as though he were watching a child approach his fine clothes with dirty hands. He sighed. “How subtle,” he said. “Trying to be the big man in town, are we?”

“Not at all,” Crono said with false innocence. “I’m just waiting to make a delivery.”

The nobleman smirked as he took in the loaded satchel Crono wore. “How quaint. Looks like the Time-Traveller of Truce will have to wait until my business is finished. A few minutes should be nothing to you, after all.”

Fritz, his mouth set in a rigid line, kept his head down as he continued to fill the nobleman’s order, which was becoming increasingly larger as his cronies added items to it. 

The nobleman didn’t take his eyes off Crono, watching him as though tracking an insect who had wandered into his house. Crono, taking a page from Lucca’s book, looked back coolly. When growing up, he’d tended to deal with bullies by fighting them, earning him several black eyes from his classmates and groundings from his mother. Lucca had instead taken the high road, treating her antagonizers with nonchalance and then a perfectly timed verbal barb that hit them right where they were most vulnerable. She claimed that if you showed the enemy any weakness, they’d attack even stronger. Not having Lucca’s quick wit, Crono decided that silence would do just as well.

One of the nobleman’s friends, of a lesser rank based on the lack of gold trim around his cuffs and hem, guffawed. “He’s too stupid to even reply, Tom.”

Tom’s expression didn’t change. “That’s what you get with a village education, Darius. No social skills or graces. He was quick to run his mouth a few months ago with his ridiculous story. Perhaps someone finally put him in his place, and he’s learned to keep his mouth shut if he wants to avoid more trouble.”

Crono bristled at those words. Although he didn’t have Lucca’s brains and had had trouble focusing at school due to the endless amount of energy he seemed to possess, he wasn’t stupid. His mother had taught him how to read at age three, wanting him to have a good education even if he was destined to be a labourer. And he hadn’t talked to anyone about his adventures through time other than to Marle, Lucca, her parents, and the king. King Guardia had made a big deal about it at the closing of the Millennial Fair, no doubt to show that his daughter associated with heroes and not hoodlums. 

His fingers tingling with the urge to throttle the young nobleman, Crono Instead dug his fingernails into his palms, willing himself to not react further. He must have done a poor job of it, for Tom laughed. “Hit a nerve, I see. Ah, there’s bag-boy coming now with my things.” His harassed-looking servant took the bags and dropped a few small coins into Fritz’s outstretched hand. “Keep the change,” Tom said. 

Everyone in the store watched the group of noblemen leave, the young men's attitude seeming to fill the whole space until the door closed after them. Fritz sighed. “I’m sorry, Crono, but my dad can’t afford to offend them. They don’t come often, but they spend quite a lot of money when they’re here. And there’ve been quite a few of them in Truce lately, for whatever reason.” He glanced at the few coins in his palm. “’Keep the change.’ It’s only five bronze pieces extra. What a jerk.” He glanced over at the bins sadly. “And they also took the rest of the limes.”

Crono’s body was still tense, but he smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “No problem. Best to get him out of here as quickly as possible before someone punched him in the face.”

Fritz laughed. “Like you.” His eyes shone with hero-worship.

The weight of Fritz’s expectation settled heavily in Crono’s chest. “Maybe.” The old Crono would have, the careless Crono who needn’t fear any consequence worse than a thrashing. This new Crono, the one who’d faced death headfirst and helped destroy an entire civilization, tread more carefully.

 

Crono’s business with Fritz’s father did not take long. Upon leaving the general store Crono swore, releasing the tension coiled up inside him. Two of his neighbours glared at him and walked even faster away. He didn’t care. He’d once had a former king of queen of Guardia bow down to him, and now here he was, forced to take others’ ridicule because of their distrust and fear. He knew it was in poor taste to think like that, but he couldn’t help the feeling from filling his mind and making him wish for the days of his adventures even more. He missed the freedom. The sense of purpose. The friendship.

Squaring his shoulders, Crono continued walking. His satchel was still heavy with monster parts. The apothecary was just one street over, so he decided to swing by and make one more delivery. Crono always stared hard at its sign whenever he was in the area. It hadn’t existed four months prior—but only for Crono, Marle, and Lucca. In the other timeline, it had been a clothing store for women, its sign decorated with curly script and an image of flowers. The apothecary was quite another story.

Crono walked into the dim store, crinkling his nose against the pungent mustiness. Not seeing the apothecary, he rang the bell on her counter. 

The door to the back room flew open as a young woman briskly walked with her face down and arms wrapped around her waist, ignoring Crono. She moved with an embarrassed awareness that she’d been caught somewhere she didn’t want to be seen. Crono wondered what exactly she’d asked of the apothecary.

A few seconds later the woman herself appeared. The first time Crono had come by to see if she needed his hunting services, he had expected a grizzled old woman with a scarf in her hair and beads around her neck. Instead he’d met Lilith, a woman his mother’s age who wore utilitarian brown and grey dresses, curled her hair in a fashionable style, and spoke to everyone with a clearness of mind and purpose.

She smiled gratefully at the sight of Crono and his bag. “Lovely. I was just about to run out of hetake flakes. Quite a few people have been suffering from insomnia lately, and each draught requires a handful of flakes.”

Crono opened the bag and began taking out the remainder of its contents. “I brought a few hetakes. Hopefully that’ll be enough?”

Lilith considered the amount. “Yes, that should last me a few days. At this pace, however, I’m concerned I’ll run out before your next delivery. If I pay you ten extra gold pieces, would you mind making a special trip for me to get more?”

Crono waved away the offer. “Don’t worry about it. Just let me know when you need more.” While he could have used the extra gold to help his mom get a new stove, he didn’t feel comfortable accepting it from one of the few people who showed him only kindness.

“No, I insist.” Lilith counted out his total and added the extra coins. “It’s business, Crono. You have to stand up for what you’re worth.”

_Apparently that’s not very much, according to that asshole Tom_ , Crono thought. He nodded and thanked Lilith for the payment, gathering up the now empty bag. He fought to keep his body moving at a normal pace and not rush to leave. 

“Something’s troubling you,” Lilith said, watching Crono with her large eyes. She didn’t ask what was wrong. She never did, Crono had noticed. Instead of prying for details, she listened, letting others say as much or as little as they wanted. It explained why she was so effective at helping people—she often knew what they needed before they’d even admitted it out loud. 

“Dealt with a nobleman who thought he was better than everyone else,” Crono said. “I’m just annoyed with it.” At Lilith’s questioning look he clarified. “The looks. The conversations that end when I walk into a room. The turned backs. Most people in town acting like I’m some nutcase, like—”

Realizing what he’d just said, he clamped his mouth shut. His ears tingled; they were probably turning red. _Fantastic, Crono. Not only were you about to suggest she’s crazy, she’s going to think you’re a wimp who can’t hold it together when someone calls you a name. Grow some thicker skin._

To Crono’s increasing embarrassment, Lilith laughed gently. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not mocking you. I’m just amused that the deepest concerns people your age have are also the most common.” She gathered the hetake pieces and moved behind the counter. “I too once felt that way myself. This may not surprise you,” she said, smiling, “but I once also struggled with how others saw me, with how I saw myself. But I’ve since come to realize that we’re all different, so why must we concern ourselves so much with it? 

“Without me, for instance,” she said, indicating the hetake carcasses, “dozens of people would be tossing and turning in their beds tonight. Ironically, it’s what makes us seem strange that actually allows us to find our purpose in the world.”

Crono moved closer and rested his arms against the surface of the counter. He thought of Lucca, who’d been teased and jeered at all her life for her intelligence, but whose inventions made those same people’s lives much easier. “Yeah, but what if other people don’t even allow you to use your differences? What happens when they just shut you out?”

Crono watched as Lilith began to prepare the pieces. Her hands moved gracefully, flicking off the rough skin and cutting the meat with fluid motions of her knife. She paused, the knife in midair. “I get the feeling we’re not talking about personality quirks anymore.” She brought the knife point down into the cutting board. “This is about the townsfolk doubting the stories about you.”

Again, not a question. Crono tapped his fingers against the wood but met her eyes. She was still smiling in that same gentle manner, with no suspicious narrowing of her eyes or twist of her mouth. “I mean, I get it—it’s a lot to take in. But you believe me,” he said, realizing the fact as soon as he said it. “Why?”

“I’m a healer. It’s my job to see the possibilities in everything, to look beyond the ordinary for solutions to problems. I have no reason to doubt your story—you’ve always seemed like a honest boy to me. You also don’t have anything to gain from it; in fact, you’ve seemed to have gone through some loss” 

It was uncanny, how much she guessed correctly without knowing even a fraction of the story. Crono wondered if she could see in his eyes the dark image of Lavos rearing above him, its mouth blasting forth a surge of power that burned through skin and bone right into the spirit. The other villagers weren’t the only ones who sometimes had trouble sleeping. Crono hadn’t ever told Lucca or Marle that he still remembered the moment of his death. They’d be too upset to hear it. “I just don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

Lilith wiped her hands on a towel and walked over to a shelf. “To be an apothecary requires specialized knowledge,” she said. “Most of these herbs can be quite helpful in the right circumstances. In others, though, they can prove deadly. For instance, two leaves of that herb there can cure almost any internal ailment—sore throat, fevers, chills. It can even stop blood poisoning and heal decaying lungs. But double the dosage, and the patient dies. It’s so potent, there’s a fine balance between a cure and a poison.” She shrugged. “But in the second sense, I suppose you would be permanently ridding them of their ailments. Anyway, there are so many possibilities around this one insignificant-looking leaf. The healer decides how it’s to be used.” 

Crono knew there was a lesson in there, but his mind was too tired to process it right then. He shouldered his satchel. “Thanks for the chat, Lilith, but I have to run.”

Picking up the knife again, she continued to chop at the hetake pieces. “Consider it a token of my appreciation. I don’t know what I would be doing without your help.”

 

Nadia’s Bell rang the dinner hour when Crono returned home. A warm spicy aroma greeted him, along with two purring cats. He walked into the kitchen to find his mom by the stove, stirring a pot. Marle sat at the kitchen table shucking beans, humming happily to herself.

His mother turned around but didn’t stop her rapid stirring. “There you are. I can’t believe you left the princess here on her own. Could your business not have waited?”

“Hi to you too, Mom, and you’re welcome,” Crono said. He dropped the bag of coins on the counter beside her and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “Marle wanted to hang out here with the cats.”

Marle nodded. “That’s true, Gina. I told him to go.”

Gina simply shot Crono a disapproving look. “She’s been a help, at least.” She rapped the edge of the pot with her spoon. “Nadia, dear, don’t snap off half the bean. Just the ends, please.” 

Crono dropped his bag onto the floor; at his mother’s sigh he picked it up and hung it on the peg by the front door. He sat down beside Marle, stretching out his legs under her chair so he faced her. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“She is,” said Gina before Marle could respond. “Though perhaps you might have thought to ask before you went gallivanting across town.”

Rolling his eyes, Crono shrugged at Marle. “Sorry for the offense, Your Highness,” he said, bowing with a flourish.

She flicked one of the bean ends at him. “Shut up. Just for that, I’m going to make you help me with these.”

Crono took the bowl from her and placed it across the table. “No way, we’re going to talk to Lucca, remember?”

“Now?” Gina turned again, hands on hips, a drop of amber liquid shivering on the edge of her wooden spoon as it threatened to fall. “Dinner’s ready in fifteen minutes. Honestly, Crono, the way you run around—“

The front door crashed open. The three people in the kitchen spun around. Crono reached for his sword, while ice frosted Marle’s fingertips.

Lucca stood in the entranceway, one hand on the doorframe as she leaned in. Her face was flushed. “Crono, Marle, Gina, come out to the square. Something’s happening.”

They rushed outside, Gina pausing only to take the pot off the stove first. A crowd had gathered by the little fountain that decorated the main avenue. People craned their necks and murmured among themselves as they waited. The atmosphere was charged; they waited for the fuse. 

Upon seeing the guards hovering at the perimeter of the area, Marle pushed herself into the crowd, her hood hiding her face once again. Crono and Lucca followed as quickly as possible, while Gina went off to find Lara and Taban. The two teens had just caught up with the princess when a young man in a royal proclaimer’s uniform stepped onto the edge of the fountain to give those in the crowd a better view. Clearing his throat, he reached into his bag and pulled out a piece of paper.

“Citizens of Guardia,” he read. “King Guardia the Thirty-Third has received notice from the Porrean nation regarding their intention to secede from the kingdom of Guardia through any means necessary. As the history of the two nations has always been one of peace and community, King Guardia has been in conversation with Porre’s new leader regarding cessation of hostilities. They have refused all attempts at compromising and conciliation.

“Let us be frank: we have done all we can to maintain the bond between Porre and Guardia, but our neighbours to the south no longer wish to uphold their relationship with us. They’ve threatened violence and harm to the citizens of Guardia. Consequently, His Majesty King Guardia the Thirty-Third has declared a state of war between the kingdom of Guardia and the protectorate of Porre. His Majesty calls upon the Guardian army and its navy to fulfill their duty to defend this great nation, and he asks its people to maintain their strong hearts and courage to show the world that the spirit of Guardia cannot be broken.”

The proclaimer jumped off the fountain. As the crowd murmured, their hushed tones punctuated by soft sobs, the three friends looked at each other in horror. The Porre they had originally left behind had been a peaceful nation, one fully committed to serving Guardia and ruled by a generous mayor.

Marle was the first to recover her voice. “We’ve got to do something.”

Crono nodded, and the two of them looked at Lucca expectantly. The inventor simply stared at where the proclaimer had been and cleaned her glasses with her shirt. Crono noticed she wiped much more than was necessary. “We’ll need to figure out what’s going on first,” she finally said. “But before that, Marle, we need to get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! My original plan was to publish a chapter a week, preferably on Fridays. Due to an unexpected large number of client projects that came my way, I may not be able to meet that goal. I will continue to write, though, and plan on posting the next chapter by July 21 (if I set a date, it's going to happen). Until then, cheers!


	3. Chapter 3

The small robot stepped once, twice, before it listed and fell over. Its legs continued to churn, much like the thoughts rolling through Lucca’s mind.

As she watched the toy flounder, she ran over the proclaimer’s speech once again, picking apart his words and sentences for clues. The threat of violence didn’t fit the mayor’s generous, open nature, nor was Porre’s army large enough to challenge Guardia’s military. But if they were serious about seceding, the Porreans had to have the means necessary, hidden from the Guardians.

Then there was the man in the mask. He’d taken the lead position in the envoy, indicating he had some authority in the nation. Had he come in the mayor’s stead? As the mayor? Lucca had briefly questioned Marle about it after the announcement, but the bewildered princess had stated she wasn’t included in any of the discussions and didn’t know.

Lucca picked up the robot and made a slight adjustment to one of the legs, shortening it so that it matched the other. Placing the toy back on the desk, she watched it walk to the other end, where it came against a stack of books and strolled in place. No, if Lucca wanted to learn more about this mysterious man, she’d have to do her own research.

The sun had just risen when Lucca left the house. It was too early—the library wouldn’t be open yet—but she could stop by the café and grab something to drink first. Plus, she wanted to be out of the house before Crono inevitably arrived, expecting her to know exactly what to do. In the chaos after the announcement, they hadn’t had a chance to make plans to meet. She didn’t have the heart to admit that she had no clue. Luckily she had until mid-morning, at least—the fool wouldn’t likely be up before then.

Truce was eerily quiet as she walked past the arch. No children played in the streets, and the old men who sat gossiping outside the café without fail were nowhere to be found. Even the few people who had left their houses for chores and errands moved without pause, as though loitering would make them a target for Porrean soldiers. Fear had settled over Truce like the Black Omen’s shadow.

Lucca sat in the café for some time, warming her hands on her mug. Around her the other patrons spoke in an almost reverent hush as if they couldn’t believe they were living through such times but were proud to be witnessing them nonetheless.

“Apparently Porre’s shut their ferry, didn’t allow the last boat to come in. My cousin was on it, said she looked out but didn’t see anything different than before,” said a man wearing a leather apron.

“Ungrateful bastards,” the waitress said, pouring more cider for him. “They would have been destroyed by Magus’s troops without us. Omens, there’d be no Porre without Guardia.”

“According to a friend who visited Porre last month, some people been complaining about the high taxes and no freedom the king gives them,” said the customer. “Say they are a different nation and should run themselves. They say it’s no longer the dark ages—there’s no Magus to fear. Have to admit, they have a point. They have the people to do it.”

The waitress snorted. “They’re happy to take from us but don’t want to give anything in return. Let them go, see how long they last without our goods and support.”

The man sipped his cider thoughtfully. “The king could’ve prevented this by letting them go. Maybe we need them more than we want to admit.”

The waitress stomped over to Lucca. “You done here?” she asked, eyeing Lucca suspiciously. The inventor nodded, placed some coins on the table, and left.

The local shopkeepers unlocked their doors and the travelling merchants opened their stands as Lucca made her way to the library. It huddled next to the schoolhouse like a child hiding behind her mother’s leg. It contained not even a quarter of the books held in the royal library or the scholar’s library at the castle town, but Lucca had been caught sneaking into the latter place twice and couldn’t risk a third offense. She had to make do with what she had available to her.

She walked in, briskly saying hello to the aged librarian sitting near the front door, who simply nodded back at her in recognition. Making her way through the familiar stacks, Lucca soon found what she was looking for. Although the Truce library had scant resources on science and technology, it did boast shelves upon shelves of books on local and national history and politics, including censuses. Grabbing a book cart that the librarian had abandoned, Lucca began gathering the tomes, dust soon filling the air and making her sneeze.

She pushed the cart to a table and flipped through the first book on the pile: a brief history of Porre in the middle ages. For the umpteenth time she wished she’d remembered to grab some resources from the old Truce, the one that existed before they’d changed the timeline. While Lucca’s memory was quite good, some of the facts had grown fuzzy or disjointed. Even Lucca the Great wasn’t immune to time’s decay on the mind and body.

Lucca spent the next few hours flipping through books, skimming their pages, and occasionally taking notes. But as she discarded each one, a hollow feeling emerged and grew stronger. According to everything she was reading, Porre should have become more peaceful, not militant. She glanced over her notes again as though hoping shed been mistaken, but the words were the same as before.

Like in the previous timeline, Porre had developed as a small nation of vegetable and cattle farmers who’d joined with Guardia just prior to 600AD, when the threat of Magus loomed over them. They’d suffered losses in the war against the Mystics but had supported Guardia. After that time, the Porreans had lived as a charitable people—Lucca smiled at this—building shelters for the poor, lowering taxes, and instituting a special market where citizens could trade goods they didn’t need for those they did. Porre shouldn’t have had the money to invest in increasing their military arms. What weapon were they holding against Guardia’s throat?

Feeling pressure growing behind her eyes from all the reading, Lucca closed the book and pushed it toward the unsteady pile of those she’d perused. After all the visits to the library for research and her observations of town life, Lucca finally had to admit it: she was stumped.

Stumped. The word burned at her like acid. She was one of the smartest people in town—no, in the kingdom. There was no puzzle too difficult for her. She’d created a telepod that let people transport through space. There was no way she would let herself be stumped by a political matter.

But perhaps that was the problem. Politics didn’t follow logic or rules of science and math.

As she mulled over these thoughts, she idly flipped through the last unread book in front of her. A figure flashed by, catching her attention. She backtracked to find an image of Toma grinning up at her. He had his arms around two other people, a man and a woman, all dressed in the same style and color of tunic. The first three employees of the Levine Exploration Agency, formed with the share of the money the companions had given him for his help in locating the Rainbow Shell. Lucca smiled down at the cheeky figure, recalling Crono’s face when Toma had bought Lucca a drink and danced with Marle at the Dorino Inn.

A floorboard creaked nearby, breaking Lucca’s reminiscence. She looked up to find the librarian making her way over. “I’m sorry, miss, but I have to close the library for the lunch hour. You can come back later to finish your work.” The old woman glanced at the messy piles of books on the table with some consternation.

After thanking her and stacking the books neatly back onto the cart, Lucca left, but her mind remained on the history she’d read inside.

 

Lucca arrived home just as Nadia’s Bell began to ring the noon hour. Deep in thought, she didn’t hear the commotion until it was almost upon her.

“Don’t let them escape!” a voice yelled from behind the house.

Lucca looked up to find a mass of chickens running toward her, their low whines and clucks filling the air.  Feathers swirled as some of the birds leapt and fluttered their wings desperately, trying to fly. Yelling in shock, she jumped to the side to avoid being overrun by the frenzied fowls.

Her father rounded the corner of the house after them, his face red. “Stop them, Lucca! Don’t let them get to the water.”

Dropping her bag to the ground, Lucca ran after the chickens, diving left and right in ungainly attempts to grab them. The chickens, happy with their small burst of freedom and not wanting to go back to the coop, were almost as slippery as fish. She’d wrap her arms around one only to throw them up in self-defense as its fellow escapees buffeted and pecked at her. Taban joined the fray, and the air soon grew thick with feathers and shouted curses. After a few harried minutes, Lucca and Taban managed to herd the chickens back into the large pen surrounding the coops.

Taban shut the gate with a satisfied grunt. He grinned. “Got ’em. No harm, no foul.”

Lucca groaned and raised her eyes skyward. “I don’t know if I hate you more for the joke or for those monsters.” Her hands and legs stinging from pecks and cuts, she stood beside Taban and watched the birds, who now strutted around as though they’d been the ones who had decided to return. “In all seriousness, you sure you know what you’re doing, dad? Raising chickens isn’t as easy as you think.”

Taban clucked at the birds, who ignored him and made their way to the opposite end of the pen. “Yep. Read all about it. Hey, I raised you. I think I can raise a few chickens.”

“I think I should be slightly offended by that statement.”

“You shouldn’t,” Taban said. “Now, if I had said that raising chickens would be the same as raising you because you both refuse to listen to me and like to destroy my property, then maybe.” He moved to put his arm around Lucca in a playful hug, but she laughed and pushed him away lightly.

Lara opened the back door. “All right, enough playing around. Lunch is ready. Cheese omelets.”

Bending down to pick up her bag, Lucca groaned. “Eggs again? That’s all we’ve been eating since you got those spawn of Lavos five days ago. If I never eat another egg again, it’ll be too soon.”

Shaking her head, Lara ushered Lucca into the house. “Learn to love them. With the shortages and this war now, who knows what food prices will be like. We have to make do, kiddo. All of us.”

“Besides, once we’ve got the garden set up, we’ll be able to grow our own vegetables and herbs. And there’s still room on the island for a small barn and another pen—maybe we can even get a cow,” Taban said, pointing at the window to indicate the area.

“Let’s see how the chicken thing goes first, Taban,” said Lara. “Speaking of which, did you fill their feed?”

With a guilty look, Taban rushed out the back door. Lara just shook her head and smiled at her husband’s retreating figure.

“Is dad okay? You know, like up here?” Lucca pointed at her head.

Lara huffed in mock reproach. “Honestly, Lucca, you should know by now that your father’s eccentric.” She set two plates of eggs on the table and went back to the counter for the third. “I think he’s been a little bored since the festival. Without any commissions to keep him on track, he’s become a bit absent-minded. Having the chickens to take care of will give him something to focus on.”

Lucca picked at her omelet with her fork. “Still nothing?”

“No. He’s made some rounds to the neighbours to see if they have any work that needs doing, but nothing’s come up.”

Lucca laughed hollowly. “Boy, you make one Princess disappear with your telepod, and everyone holds it against you.”

The door rattled. “Shh.“ Lara shot Lucca a warning look. “He’s coming back inside.”

As the family ate in silence, Lucca calculated the money they had left. Upon returning from her travels, she’d given her parents most of what she’d earned from trading and the Rainbow Shell reward. It hadn’t been a windfall, but she’d hoped it would have been enough to tide them over for at least half a year. But she’d assumed they would have commissioned work. With no projects in the past four months, their savings were probably almost all gone. It hurt to admit, but it was time she looked for a job in town.

As Lucca gathered the empty dishes and contemplated how to combat the rebuttals her parents would inevitably have to her decision, someone rapped on their front door. Lucca jumped up. “It’s probably Crono. That freeloader has a sixth sense for food.”

She opened the door to the living room and stuck her head out. “Come in!” she hollered, but the front door didn’t move. Instead it reverberated with three more knocks. Sighing, Lucca walked to answer it. “Crono, stop being so annoying—“

But when Lucca answered the call, it wasn’t the teen who stood at the entrance but a grim-looking man dressed in a tabard trimmed with red and gold. In one hand he held a satchel filled with large scrolls and reams of paper. He greeted her with his free hand outstretched. “Miss Lucca Ashtear? My name is Simon, and I’m an engineer from the Guardia Royal Arms Commission. I’ve come to speak with you and your father, Taban.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is this a bad time?”

Acutely aware of her sweat-matted hair and the shards of grass still stuck to her disheveled clothing, Lucca gave his hand a brief shake. “No, please come in.” As the man walked over the threshold, she smoothed her tunic and found a chicken feather attached to the right side of her belt. Of all the days to get a royal visitor, today was certainly the worst.

Steeling herself, she straightened her posture and tried to appear as professional as possible in the circumstances. “What can we help you with, Simon?”

Simon’s eyebrow rose even higher as he looked around the room. It was cleaner than usual today—Lara, after tripping on a book, had insisted that Lucca and Taban shelve the rest before any of them broke their necks. But the dozens of tools hanging from the walls, the long workbenches, and the numerous unfinished projects lining the room were clearly not what the man had expected to see in the Ashtear’s main living area. He cleared his throat and focused on Lucca. “I’ve come with a project for your father—for both of you, actually,” he said.

“And both of us would be happy to listen to all the details,” said Taban, entering the room. He beckoned for Simon to take a seat at the workbench. “Right, Lucca?”

But Lucca didn’t answer. Simon seemed to darken the room as he walked further into it. He shifted the satchel from hand to hand, and while his tone was light, it strained under the weight of words left unsaid. Studying him, Lucca suddenly thought of her toy robot, its legs continuously moving as it walked closer to the edge of her desk.

Taban laughed nervously. “She’s constantly thinking of her projects, gets lost in her calculations. Devoted to her work, she is. No greater mind in Truce.”

As Lucca mumbled an apology, Simon reached into the satchel and pulled out a thick file filled with paper. “Yes, His Majesty the King has mentioned your unique talents in inventing, Miss Ashtear. That’s why I’ve been sent to speak with you. We need your help.”

He placed the file on the counter and laid his hand on it. “Before we begin, however, I require your word that you’ll speak to no one about this. Everything I’ve been cleared to tell you is confidential. Do you understand?”

Taban nodded and swore his silence. Lucca, with deep misgivings and fingers crossed behind her back, followed suit. Now they were entwined in whatever scheme King Guardia had set up, whether she liked it or not. The Royal Arms Commission would not let this information go lightly without expecting something in return. But she was curious to hear what the Commission had planned, as perhaps it could help her, Crono, and Marle figure out their next course of action.

Simon leaned back and opened the file. He placed the documents in a line on the counter. “As you are aware, Porre has declared war on Guardia. But His Majesty has long since suspected this, based on intelligence reports.”

Lucca grunted in surprise. _How could Marle not have heard anything about it before now?_ She immediately chastised herself. Although Crono and Marle believed that the king had changed his stripes, Lucca still had her doubts. She wouldn't put it past him to keep his daughter oblivious, whether due to his need to protect her or her inexperience with ruling.

“Some of these reports indicate that Porre has been increasing and improving their weaponry,” Simon continued. “The details are hard to come by, but based on some observations, the Porrean army has created large cannons that can be easily moved and discharge smaller ammunition at a faster velocity. And soldiers are apparently equipping handheld weapons that rapidly eject small pieces of metal—much like the weapon you use,” he said, indicating the gun holstered at Lucca’s waist.

She’d forgotten it was there, she wore it so often. “Not quite the same,” she said. “Mine shoots lasers, and I can adjust the level to either stun or kill.” At Simon’s confused look, she clarified. “Lasers—beams of monochromatic light from the stimulation of—it doesn’t matter,” she said as he squinted even more in thought.

“What can I say? My daughter’s a genius,” said Taban, grasping her shoulder and looking at her proudly.

“Er, yes, you’ve mentioned that,” said Simon. “For the past two months, the Commission has been working on some new prototypes to combat Porre’s advanced weaponry. We’ve created a wide variety of weapons that allow our soldiers to penetrate Porre’s increased defenses, as well as some new armour to protect against their stronger attacks. We’ve managed to manufacture these advanced pieces for a large percentage of our troops. In addition, we’ve developed another intriguing tool, but there’s been some difficulty with the implementation stage. Based on our calculations and plans, it should work, but it fails during tests. Since you’re skilled with technology, we’ve come to ask for your assistance in creating a working prototype that can be mass manufactured.” He indicated the rows of papers now on the counter. “I’ve brought over our plans and research. Please, look them over.”

Taban and Lucca bent over the counter, the former so closely that his nose was only a few inches from the plans. Lucca scanned each piece in turn, running some of the calculations in her mind. The design was relatively simple. With some tweaking, it should work.

As she made it to the end of the second row, Lucca’s heart began to race. “Simon, this is moving into dangerous territory. A weapon with this much firepower could take out an entire town.”

Simon watched her carefully. “As it should—that is the intention.”

“You can’t be serious,” she said. “Think about the huge—“

“—amount of work involved in creating the prototype,” Taban cut in, his tone pleasant but strained. He shot Lucca a warning look. She tried to speak again, but he overrode her. “The cost of materials alone will be astronomical, and the amount of time needed to work on it . . .”

“Of course, you’ll be compensated more than fairly for your efforts. You’ll be paid 50,000 gold pieces for the successful creation of the prototype, with half paid now and the other half paid upon completion in two weeks’ time.”

Both Lucca and Taban gaped. It was a prosperous offer, but every instinct in Lucca screamed at her to say no, to renegotiate. She knew technology was capable of such destruction, not just from what she saw in 2300AD but what she’d discovered through her own inventing. Her guns, the Wondershot especially, were capable of killing, but on a much smaller scale. Her stomach churned. She’d told Marle that robots couldn’t be evil—humans made them that way. It was starting already.

“That’s a good amount, enough to cover our time and materials,” Taban said, keeping his voice professional. But Lucca saw the sweat shine on his head and the hungry look in his eye. “I believe we can have the prototype completed to the Commission by that deadline. Right, Lucca?”

Ignoring Taban’s pleading look, Lucca pretended to study the plans again as she carefully chose her next words. “Maybe we should take a few minutes to discuss the logistics of the project, dad, and whether we can feasibly do this ourselves.”

“If you require help, the Commission can supply two or three assistants,” Simon said.

 _Damn, he’s a step ahead of me_. The Guardian Royal Arms Commission was not going to make it easy for them to say no. Lucca clenched her teeth. Perhaps it was time to drop the pretenses. “Simon, would you mind giving my father and me a moment to discuss your proposal?”

Cocking his head as though perplexed, Simon assented and moved to the front door, giving them privacy. Lucca grasped Taban’s arm and pulled him through the door to the kitchen, where they came across a guilty-looking Lara standing by the door.

“Dad, you can’t be serious about taking this project,” Lucca said. “Did you see the design of that blaster? Don’t you understand just how much power it has and what it could be used for?”

Taban clutched at his hair. “Yes, but we don’t know for sure if it’ll even be used. Lucca, think about it. We’ll earn more from this commission than in two years! We’ll be perfecting the highest level of technology. We do this right, and we’ll be known as the greatest inventors of our lifetime.”

Lucca scowled. Lara, seeing the look on her face, cut in. “That’s all well, Taban, but I think you need to consider Lucca’s feelings on this. Lu,” she said, running a hand through Lucca’s hair, “we’ll stand by your decision, right Taban?”

Taban choked back his reply at Lara’s stare.

Her mother’s words added to the burden. Lucca the person shrank in fear from the possibilities offered by the plans. How many Porreans would lose their homes, would die from that sort of power? Not all of them could possibly be supporting the new leader’s plans for war. But if she didn’t help, how many Guardians would be killed by Porre’s advanced technology?

And it was easy for her to debate morality, but the Ashtears couldn’t eat moral stew and ethics pie. Underneath Lara and Taban’s enthusiasm for their livestock were the signs of strain: the whispered conversations when they thought Lucca was asleep or immersed in a project, the triple-counting of coins before going to the market, and repeated meals. What was happening to them was Lucca’s fault.

The toy robot flashed through Lucca’s mind again. Robo. What if she’d erased the people or events that originally led to the technology she’d seen in 2300AD, and the universe—no, the Entity—was giving her this chance to right the timeline by creating something that would form the basis for these future inventions? The various what-ifs writhed in her mind like snakes. Since her return, each opportunity had become as incomprehensible as a piece of abstract art, its meaning always shifting.

“Lucca?” Lara said gently.

Squaring her shoulders, Lucca pushed aside all the thoughts crowding her mind. She switched into scientist mode. “Tell Simon we’ll accept,” she said. “He’ll have the prototype in two weeks.”

Taban whooped and hurried through the door to deliver the decision to Simon. Without looking at her mother, Lucca mumbled that she had to get to work, and rushed to her room. If she was going to take part in the war effort, she may as well do so in the best way she knew how.


	4. Chapter 4

Marle lounged in an armchair, her legs over the side and crossed at the ankles. Her eyes and mind were focused outside instead of on the book that now threatened to slide off her lap. The library was high up in the western tower, so the window only revealed the sky. But it was a marvellous sky, a vibrant blue that seemed to glow the more she stared at it. Occasionally a shred of a cloud, as light as a breath on a chilly winter morning, floated by, and the dark shapes of birds flying south for the winter scattered across the blue field before disappearing. To anyone else the familiar scene wouldn’t be much to look at, but to Marle its simplicity and freedom made it the most beautiful thing on earth.

Her legs cramped again, and she stretched them. She wished she could go to the private gardens to do some target practice with her crossbow but knew it was futile. She’d tried to go down to the kitchen that morning to grab a snack, but one of the guards had informed Constance. The nag, after dragging the annoyed princess to the library, had said, “There’s a lot happening in the castle right now, and you don’t want to be caught underfoot.” Marle had translated her chaperone’s words: there were too many people coming and going, and Constance didn’t want to risk losing Marle in the chaos—or having the princess take advantage of it to make her escape.

Marle thought longingly of Truce, of Crono’s kitchen and the beach by Lucca’s house. While her two friends were busy making plans and preparing for what they were going to do, Marle was instead being bored to tears in the library being quizzed on etiquette. Lucca was lucky; she was able to educate herself on the topics that interested her. Marle had even talked with her about some of these topics and read books that the other girl let her borrow. The princess’s tutors, on the other hand, complained that natural science and mythology were not appropriate topics for a princess to study.

“No, Your Highness,” Constance said, pulling Marle’s attention back to her. “One would never address the Elder of Medina as the Mystical One. You must focus.”

Marle yawned. A strand of hair tickled her forehead, and she swiped it away. “This is pointless, Constance. Why do I need to learn about formal titles? It’s not like we’re going to have balls anytime soon.”

Constance’s face pinched even more than usual. “Titles are important, Princess Nadia. They confer respect and authority to a leader. Without them, a ruler would simply be like those who follow them.”

 _Tell that to Ayla_ , Marle thought. The prehistoric chief had wrestled respect with her strong will and commanding nature. “Honestly, I think titles are a waste of breath. Who cares what a person’s called so long as they’re honest and just.”

Her face flushing, Constance opened her mouth to retort but was prevented from doing so by the arrival of one of the king’s guards. He murmured to her for a moment. Marle leaned forward as though her true intention was to place the book on the table in front of her, but she couldn’t hear what he said.

Constance stood up. “I must leave for a while, Princess. You’re to remain here until I return. The librarian and guards will also stay in case you need anything. In the meantime, start reading this,” she said, offering another book to Marle. “We can discuss what you’ve read tomorrow over dinner.”

Marle accepted the tome and read the cover: _Manners, Customs, and Daily Life of the Mystics from 400AD to 900AD_. She could already feel her brain melting from boredom. Once the door closed behind Constance, Marle jumped up and went to the librarian, who stood cataloguing the contents of the royal library at its other end. “Do you have anything more interesting?” she asked.

 

When Constance returned an hour later, Marle slid her copy of _Heroic Tales of the Zenan Continent_ to the side. But the chaperone’s attention seemed pulled inward, for she didn’t catch the movement.

The effect was disquieting. “Is everything okay, Constance?” Marle asked.

Constance blinked and fixed her dark brown eyes, which reminded Marle of the soil in Guardia Forest, on her charge. She clasped her hands in front of her. “You’re to return to your room and dress for a special audience with your father.”

Jumping up, Marle gripped the table edge in excitement. “Maybe he’s finally allowing me to attend a council meeting!”

Constance shook her head. “No, Princess. There is no meeting this afternoon, and they still remain open only to the reigning ruler of Guardia and the council.”

“Then why am I to get dressed? I don’t need to impress Daddy.”

“Princess, when the king makes an order, you’re to follow it without question.” Marle didn’t miss the special emphasis placed on the last two words. “That curiosity will only lead you to disappointment. Now go. I must speak with your tutor about your lessons for the rest of the week. Emily will help you dress.”

As Marle walked back to her room, followed by her two guards, she puzzled over the request. What was her father up to? She hadn’t had a chance to speak with him the past few days. She smiled. Perhaps he’d asked her to dress because he wanted her to join him and his guests for dinner, and he simply decided to meet with her beforehand to prepare her for it. She recalled their meal with Sir Jonah Levine and his wife the week before. How was she to know that the grump didn’t have Toma’s sense of humour?

Opening her bedroom door, Marle heard her maidservant, Emily, open the standing drawer. “What dress would you like to wear, Your Highness?” Emily asked.

Marle glanced at the row of colourful dresses neatly hanging inside. A line of deep-blue fabric, almost mirroring the clear autumnal sky she’d longed to explore, caught her eye. It was one of her favourites. Constance would consider the sleeveless dress too frivolous for a private audience. “This one is perfect,” Marle said, pulling it out. If she had to participate in royal duties, she’d at least do it on her terms.

The servant smiled, and Marle was reminded of the Emily from the other timeline. She’d been Emily Vandermere then, daughter of the Duke of Manolia. In this Guardia the noble family had been replaced by the Levines, who had discovered the deposit of granite on the north shore instead and sold the resource for a huge profit to builders, changing the social scene. Marle remembered the other Emily, the one who had spoken to servants haughtily and wore the finest designs. She knew nothing of this incarnation; for some reason time travellers were immune to changes. Lucca had tried to explain it once, but Marle had zoned out when she’d started postulating about paradoxes and dimensions. But every so often Marle caught flickers of the original Emily in her movements and words.  
  
As Marle bathed and allowed her body and hair to be dressed by Emily, she let her mind settle into a calm focus. She’d been given an opportunity to be useful, perhaps learn something she could bring back to Crono and Lucca. She wasn’t going to waste it.

 

The two soldiers standing guard outside the king’s office bowed and opened the door. Taking a moment to smooth her skirt, Marle entered, her step light and her arms out to display her outfit. “Daddy, what do you think of this—”

She swallowed the rest of her words when she saw that her father was not alone. The chancellor sat at his left at the ornate oak table, as expected for the king’s main advisor. On the king’s right was a grey-haired man with a full mustache and small eyes squinting at her with a sharp eagerness that robbed her of all enthusiasm and movement. Beside him sat an unfamiliar man in his mid-twenties.

Something shuffled behind Marle, and she turned. It was Constance keeping to the periphery as she made her way to a seat by the wall. She paused for a second as she took in Marle’s dress, and the wrinkles in her face deepened with her frown. Marle thought it a personal victory, although she wasn’t completely sure why. Perhaps she enjoyed surprising Constance as much as she’d been surprised just now. Served her right.

“Thank you, my dear, for coming on such short notice,” her father said. When he smiled at her, his mouth twitched as though it struggled against a heavy weight. He kept his eyes slightly off of her, looking at something just above her left shoulder. “Allow me to introduce you to Mayor Eli Hans of Choras and Rodger Alfret, commander of the Chorean militia.”

In the confusion of the conflict with Porre, Marle had forgotten that the Chorean envoy had arrived a week earlier to talk about trade and improvements to transportation between the two nations. Now she vaguely recalled her father mentioning the visit during dinner one night, but she’d been thinking about her upcoming trip to Truce and hadn’t paid much attention.

The mayor wore simple clothing befitting his status, with the chain of office around his neck his only adornment. The young man beside him wore finer clothing of green, but the ends were slightly frayed and travel stained. His straw-coloured hair was thin and hung over his eyes. He kept pushing the fringe to one side with his hand, but each time it soon bounced back. He caught Marle’s gaze and returned it, his eyes and expression steady. He had none of the nervous boyishness that Crono, only seventeen, still sometimes possessed.

She lowered her eyes to the floor but continued to feel his gaze on her. Bobbing in an awkward curtsey, she murmured, “Welcome, sirs.” _What’s going on?_

“Sit, my dear,” her father said, gesturing to the table.

The chancellor stood and offered his seat to Marle, who sat down gingerly as if afraid it had been set with a joke trap she used to place on the seats of her father’s councillors when she was a child.

The mayor of Choras raised his hand. “If you don’t mind me cutting to the chase, Your Majesty, Commander Rodger would like to raise his business with Princess Nadia.”

Marle swivelled to regard her father. He was focusing so intently on the young man, who had now stood up and was making his way toward her, that Marle suspected he had been informed about this business ahead of time.

A shadow swept over Marle. She forced herself to move slowly, gracefully, toward the person who made it. Rodger stood over her, his eyes flicking between hers and her chest. She glanced down at her dress. The top was cut lower than she’d remembered. Feigning an itch on her right shoulder, she crossed her left arm over herself.

Kneeling, Rodger offered his hand to her. With increasing dread, but not knowing what else to do, she took it. He placed his other hand on top, capturing hers. His palms were warm and slightly sticky with sweat, and Marle used every ounce of willpower to resist the urge to pull her hand back and wipe it on her dress.

When he spoke, his eyes were for her, but the words were intended for all in the room. “Princess Nadia, I know it has been many years since we’ve last seen each other, but since then you’ve rarely been out of my thoughts.”

Marle racked her brain for any memory of him. Only one came, of a nervous boy who’d cried after she’d dumped her cup of water on his head when he’d teased her. They couldn’t have been more than nine years old. She hadn’t thought about him until this moment.

“I have not been gifted with words, so I’ll make this brief,” he said. “Will you, Princess Nadia, accept my hand in marriage?”

The cry came out of Marle’s throat so quickly that she choked on it, making only a slight strangled noise instead. She stared at her father with wide-eyed horror.

Rodger, following her gaze, patted her hand. “I’ve already asked your father for his permission, which he has graciously given, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

King Guardia gave a barely perceptible nod. “I approve of the marriage, should my daughter accept this proposal,” he murmured to the chancellor, who sat poised with pen in hand, ready to record Marle’s answer.

Rodger bowed his head in the king’s direction. “Choras has always been loyal to the throne of Guardia. Now let this loyalty become even stronger by love and blood.” The corners of his mouth turned upward slightly.

 _Gross. What a pretentious creep_. The situation was proceeding too quickly for Marle to process anything but her disgust. Stalling for time, she forced a rictus smile on her face. “Your loyalty is much appreciated, my lord. I’m sure it has nothing to do with my status or the terms that have most likely been set before I even walked into the room,” she said.

Her words seemed to have hit the mark as deeply as one of her crossbow bolts, she noted in petty satisfaction. Her father finally looked at her, but his set expression was difficult to read. Constance sniffed in disapproval. Rodger’s smirk wavered. Sensing a near disaster, the chancellor jumped in. “Princess Nadia, you needn’t worry about such details—“

“She has a right to know.”

Both Marle and the chancellor stared at the king in disbelief, who waved his hand for the latter to continue. The chancellor cleared his throat. “The terms of marriage have been set out by King Guardia and Commander Rodger of Choras. In exchange for the hand of Princess Nadia—er, your hand, Your Highness—Master Rodger shall become Prince of Guardia. Upon His Majesty’s death—pray to the Algetty that he live a long and happy life—Master Rodger shall become King Guardia the Thirty-Fourth, and all children born from this union shall become heirs to the throne. Master Rodger shall provide His Majesty 25,000 gold pieces upon signing of this matrimonial contract and 25,000 gold pieces on the wedding day as a gift.”

Marle threw an angry look at her father, who'd gone back to avoiding her gaze. He’d all but signed her life away to this stranger without so much as a word to her. What had he been thinking? She thought they’d moved past miscommunication and keeping secrets.

Rodger squeezed her hand, bringing her attention back to him. “I realize my proposal may have been unexpected. You do not need to answer me now. Take a few days to think on it.”

Nodding, Marle drew back her hand. “Thank you, sir,” she said, pushing each word out through clenched teeth.

“Of course,” he said, taking her hand back and kissing it. “The mayor and I will retire for now and prepare for dinner.”

Marle tried hard to sit still as Rodger and Eli left. But as soon as the door shut behind the two men and Constance, who’d been dismissed by a quick gesture from the king, she stood up and leaned toward her father, her palms hitting the table with a ponderous _thwack_. “Daddy,” she cried. “How could you?” The whine came out without bidding.

Her father sighed and gestured for Marle to take her seat again, but she remained standing. “I know you’re angry, but my hands are tied, Nadia. When the mayor arrived last week, he made it clear that the real purpose of his visit was for Rodger to propose to you. With the unrest in Porre, I was not in a position to refuse Rodger to ask you the question. I don’t know if you noticed,” he said wryly, “but I did not accept the proposal for you, even though Councillors Labell and Levine pushed heavily for me to.”

“Which your father had every right to do,” the chancellor said, his tone indicating that he thought the councillors’ advice had been sound.

“Oh,” Marle said, scrambling for something to say to that.

The king took his crown off, placing it carefully on the table. “I realize it was selfish of me to place this decision on your shoulders, but it would never have worked otherwise. You’d have resented me, Rodger, and the kingdom.”

At that moment Marle saw how worn out he was, not just from running the kingdom but from years of being on his own, without his wife and at odds with his daughter. He balanced two heavy responsibilities as both a ruler and a parent. A rush of frustration burned in Marle’s gut. She didn’t want his burden. She wasn’t ready for it.

She picked at a loose thread on her dress. “No, instead I’ll just resent myself. And have Crono resent me. Daddy, I can’t just drop him. I—“ Her mouth worked uselessly. She wasn’t sure which words she wanted to use, her mind was such a roiling mess. “I just can’t.”

“Nadia, I understand you are . . . close with the young man in town. I wish the situation could have been simplier for you. But every leader must face the decision either to turn away from their responsibilities for themselves or those they love, or to continue on for the good of many others. Some have made the former choice and have not felt regret. Perhaps they’ve been judged for it; who knows if they’d even cared. Others have chosen to stand for the greater good and paid dearly, but they were happy to do so. I can’t tell you what to do. The only way you’ll succeed in either case is if it’s what you truly want.”

“So you wouldn’t be angry if I refused Rodger’s proposal?” Marle asked, still not letting herself believe she had the choice.

“No,” the king said, sighing again. “If that is what you choose, then I and the councillors will accept it, no matter the consequences.”

“Consequences? You don’t think Choras will turn against us if I refuse? They can’t!” Marle cried.

“They could. Look at Porre,” the chancellor said.

The king shot him a stern look. “Yes, Nadia, there is a chance that Choras could also threaten to leave Guardia kingdom, but they have much to lose if they choose to do so.”

“I should refuse just for that.” Marle put her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to be forced to marry anyone, especially not some fop from Choras, because of blackmail. I’ll show them what happens when they try to bully me and my father.” She gathered up her skirt and spun to face the door.

“Nadia, wait,” her father said. “You don’t have to decide today. When the mayor mentioned the proposal, I thought you’d be a bit, ah, opposed to it. I know it came as a shock, so take a few days to think it over. I’m not trying to sway you,” he said when Marle tilted her head and opened her mouth to respond. “Decisions should never be made in the heat of high emotion. Sleep on it, and if you feel the same way in three days, then we shall tell them together.”

He stood up. “I have a lot to discuss with Levine and Labell, and I must speak with the Knight Commander as well. We can talk about this later, if you like—I will try to help as much as possible,” he said, his tone turning shy. He still seemed to struggle with being a parent, although he was trying. He put his hand at the small of her back and guided her out of the room.

The door closed behind her, but it hadn’t been shut tight. Glancing at the knights on either side, Marle crouched down as if to fix her sandal. As she did so, she heard the Chancellor mutter, “Really, Your Majesty, we cannot throw the kingdom away because the Princess doesn’t want to offend some boy from town.”

“Horace,” the king said, tiredness evident from the way he drew out the name, “I understand your concern, but I will not risk losing my daughter again. And she has to be the one to accept her responsibility. If she doesn’t, then Guardia will be doomed whether or not it survives this war, for she’ll never be truly committed to it.”

“Princess Nadia, what are you doing?” Constance said, striding up to her. Marle jumped, her face burning from the shock and what she'd heard. “We need to go," her chaperone continued. "You’re expected at dinner tonight with Lady Lovelin and her daughters.”

Marle marched back to her chambers, Constance in tow. She dwelled in her misery. She finally had the chance to earn her freedom, work with Crono and Lucca to come up with a plan to set things right. But her father’s words looped in her mind. He had to be exaggerating, surely. Would her refusal really mean she didn’t care about the kingdom?

That night, as she lay down in her bed, loneliness swept over her alongside her cover. She knew she couldn’t talk to her father about this, no matter what he said. She’d feel the burden of his hope too heavily. But her thoughts twisted together, and she couldn’t pull out a single thread. She needed to talk it out to someone who could see all sides and figure out whatever it was that Marle seemed to be missing.

As sleep closed in, Marle smiled. She wasn’t alone this time, after all. She had a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I had some difficulty writing this chapter and the next two, but everything seems to be working out now. I don't plan on taking as long to post future chapters.
> 
> Thanks for following along with the story. If you're new, welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

Marle was surrounded by a darkness so thick it weighed on her like a shroud, its coldness squeezing the air out of her lungs. She tried to struggle, to escape its clutches, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t feel her body, and even her mind was numb except for two thoughts: it was cold, and she was alone.

After an eternity, a light flickered softly in the distance, wavering like a candle flame fighting to stay alive in the wind. She fixed herself to it, willed it to come to her. She remembered this place. She had never wanted to return there.

A voice called her name. Desperate for human connection, she focused on it. He’d come for her again.

“Princess Nadia!”

She bolted upright, hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. Emily stood at the foot of the bed, looking worried. “Princess, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Marle placed a shaking hand on her chest. Her heart raced so hard, she could see her shift move with the beat. The dark place hadn’t been real this time, then. “Just a nightmare,” she said.

She forced the dream to the back of her mind; the plan was more important. On the positive side, she wouldn’t have to pretend to look unwell. She did scrunch up her mouth in fake pain, just in case. “My stomach Is cramping up. I think I’ve gotten my monthly troubles early.”

She lay back down and draped an arm over her eyes. Emily heated a soft leather bag of water and placed it gently on Marle’s abdomen. The maidservant opened the shutters, allowing sunlight and crisp air into the room. The breeze was lightly perfumed with roses from the garden below the balcony. Marle usually loved the scent, but today the sweetness reminded her of rot.

After shooing Emily out of the room and asking not to be disturbed, Marle carefully listened for Constance. When she heard her antechamber door open, she closed her eyes to a slit and watched as her chaperone loomed in her doorway, regarding Marle with a critical eye. After a few moments of scrutiny, Constance seemed convinced by Marle’s appearance, for she disappeared without saying a word.

Marle waited ten more minutes before jumping out of bed. It wouldn’t do to get caught out of carelessness. Besides, this wasn’t the first time Marle had pulled this trick. But when she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, she grimaced. Her skin looked sallow, and purple smudges of fatigue were beginning to circle her eyes. No wonder she’d fooled Constance.

Deciding against washing her hair, thinking it would help with the disguise, Marle quickly splashed water on her face and put on the nondescript dress she’d borrowed from Emily’s wardrobe. Well, stolen. The poor girl would probably be blamed for the missing dress and forced to pay for a replacement, so Marle had made a note to slip some extra coins into her next stipend. But the dress was necessary—even Marle’s most casual of clothes were too fine to pass for a servant.

After twisting her hair into a bun and donning one of her cloaks to hide the dress, Marle opened the door. The two soldiers standing guard didn’t turn to her, but she knew they were noting her exit to inform Constance when she inevitably returned.

“I’m feeling better, so I’m going to the chapel,” she said. “You can tell Constance or my father if they ask, but I want to be alone.”

The soldier to the left nodded once in response. It was the perfect excuse; having missed her weekly devotions yesterday to meet with her father, it would make sense for her to go today.

Marle forced herself to walk primly down the hallway. Once she rounded the corner and left the guards’ line of sight, she jogged to the stairs. Although she tried to keep her footfalls light, the tap of her shoes against the stone steps echoed down the passage. The torches along the wall placed the curve of the stairwell in shadow, and she forced herself to slow down and descend carefully in case something else moved just beyond the bend.

Upon reaching the chapel, she paused by its open door and peeked inside. Although the room was always open to encourage devotees to come in, it was often empty. It was her lucky day: even the Servant was nowhere to be found. She spared a moment to dash inside and take off her cloak, hiding it behind one of the statues of the Servants that flanked the entrance.

As she stood up to leave, something clanked down the corridor, the sound getting louder. Guards.

Marle crouched again at the statue’s feet and hugged the wall, trying to keep out of sight from the doorway.

The clanking stopped just outside. Breathing shallowly, Marle waited, willing the soldiers to continue on. Instead, a shadowed figure entered the chapel.

His armour glinted in the weak light from the stained glass windows as he turned, swivelling his head from side to side. He loomed in the dimly lit space, his shadow trailing weakly behind him.

Marle counted slowly in her mind to try and calm her jangling nerves. She didn’t dare move. The wall pressed into her back. She wished she could sink into it and disappear. If she were caught now, she’d have a guard posted to her side constantly. She’d never get another chance to talk to Lucca. _Please, Entity, don’t let him look this way. Make him go away._

To her surprise, the guard’s eyes swept over her statue but continued on to the altar and the far corner of the room. Then, apparently satisfied, he walked out. “All clear. Not a soul inside,” she heard him say.

One of his companions snorted in disgust. “You’d think the Servant’d be in there today, praying for our success.”

“What good are prayers? Prayers won’t take down the Raven. I’d trade them for sharp weapons and sturdy armour any day.”

Their footsteps receded. As soon as silence settled again, Marle relaxed and sat loosely on the floor. She didn’t know whether to be thankful for or worried about the soldier’s inability to see her. Who knew what else they were missing.

She glanced at the timepiece Lucca had given her. The morning was running away from her—she had wasted too much time skulking around the castle. Constance wouldn’t expect her to be at the chapel for more than a few hours. Marle needed to go, and she still had one more stop to make before leaving the castle.

She nodded at the statue. “Thanks for hiding me. Sorry about the cloak. I’ll come back for it later.”

The figure’s kindly expression reminded her of the elder of the Earthbound village. She smiled. He’d probably find it ironic that his people were immortalized, especially since the Zealians were mostly lost to legends.

After tying a scarf over her head in the same way she’d seen Emily do dozens of times, Marle left the chapel. She took the stairwell at the southeast corner of the castle. The solitary door at the end, many levels below the surface of the earth, was unguarded. Not surprising, as everyone within the room couldn’t leave even if they wanted to.

Marle opened the door slowly so that the angry screech of rusted hinges became instead a slow whine. Entering the room, she grabbed an unlit torch and used it to wedge the door open. The little light shining through the narrow crack didn’t do much to dispel the gloom, but it gave her the same comfort as a candle left by her bed had when she was young.

Although her brain screamed at Marle to rush, she moved with reverence. The weak beam revealed the stone likenesses of her ancestors, lined up around her in the dozens of corridors in the labyrinthine burial chambers. As she walked, the dust and the weight of untold memories surrounding her made her giddy. The shadows thickened, and the damp air trailed its fingers over her. And all the while she felt the two empty spaces in the westernmost chambers. Waiting.

Shivering, she turned her face away, focusing on her path. The identical-looking passages could confuse all but the most knowledgeable of historians.

Using nothing but her memory and sense of touch, Marle soon found what she was looking for. Her mother’s tomb was simple but elegant, much like the woman Marle remembered. Even in stone, Aliza’s features seemed alive, her generous lips pouting slightly and her hair trailing over one shoulder. It looked as though she’d been frozen in a brief pause between actions.

Marle traced her hand over her mother’s marble cheek, smoothing her thumb over one closed eye. “Oh, mama, I miss you so much. You’d have all the answers, I know it.”

Like always, the statue didn’t respond. A tear trickled down Marle’s cheek, the wetness painfully reminding her of the permanent rift between her and her mother. Wishes were pointless. They only reminded her of what she was missing.

Wiping her face with her hand, she continued on until she reached another familiar face. “Hello, Leene,” Marle said, crouching down to feel at the floor near the sarcophagus. “I’m back.”

Marle didn’t know who had placed the passageway here or why no one else seemed to know about it, but she wasn’t going to refuse the gift. She’d discovered it when she had decided to visit Leene’s tomb to thank her for the note she’d left with the Rainbow shell. She’d been toying with her bracelets, and one had fallen and rolled into the crevice between the sarcophagi.

Reaching her arm into the small space, Marle grunted with effort as her fingers probed. They finally found the smooth switch, and she pulled it. With a deep grinding that reverberated through Marle’s bones, the cover of the tomb to Leene’s left opened, revealing a passageway out of the castle.

Marle stood up and brushed the dirt and dust from her arm. Leene stared back at her stiffly, her eyes fixed on Marle with mild disapproval.

“Not you too, Leene. There’s no one here who can help me, so I’m going to talk to my friend.” A wave of joy flowed throughout Marle’s body. A friend. It was so nice to finally have one. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

Gathering her skirts, Marle jumped into the open tomb toward freedom.

 

When Marle arrived at the western gate, she found a throng of people blocked by ranks of soldiers and mounted officers. She ran to the east and main gates, but they were even more clogged, if that were possible, with soldiers in full gear. The war against Porre had officially begun.

Transfixed by the soldiers at the main gate, Marle got caught in the ebb and flow of the human stream. She tried to shrink back as people surrounded her, but their elbows and bags jostled her. She staggered as a burly merchant pushed ahead of her. Her head spun. She’d never been among so many people in her life. She smelled the sourness of sweat and fear. Words jumped in and out of her awareness from the din.

“—an hour, my meat’s going rotten in this sun—“

“—gotta be cooking in that armour—“

Someone grabbed her arm. Marle shrieked and struggled to pull away, but the grip tightened. “My dear, give the soldiers one last glimpse of a pretty face before they go,” a voice rasped.

Marle stared at the old woman next to her. Her bony fingers looked as though they could be broken by the slightest movement, but they clutched Marle’s wrist with an iron grip. Marle paused. She didn’t want to hurt the old woman, but she had to leave before someone recognized her. “I don’t think—”

“Give a soldier a flower and bid him off. Go on, dear.” The old woman thrust a rose at Marle and released her.

Marle held the flower loosely between two fingers, confused. The memories came to her sluggishly through a fog of the history and traditions she’d studied. Centuries ago the women of Guardia had given their husbands, sons, fathers, and lovers flowers and tokens as the men went off to war against Magus. That being the only war in Guardia’s recent history, it seemed that the townsfolk had reverted to the only tradition they remembered.

Squinting in the sunlight, Marle considered simply throwing the rose away and disappearing into the crowd, but the old woman watched her. Sighing inwardly, Marle pushed through, choosing one of the closest soldiers at random. She curtsied and offered him the rose. “Goodbye, and good luck,” she said lamely.

The soldier turned in her direction, and Marle saw under the helmet a smooth and clear face. He had to be only a few years older than her. Looking around, she noticed that his companions had similar complexions. These were not the grizzled veterans she had imagined taking up the sword in Guardia’s defense.

The young man hesitated, his face flushing slightly. He took the rose from Marle, muttering an almost intelligible “thank you” as one of the officers blew his horn. The note distended into a wail that burrowed into Marle’s mind.

Other horns took up the call, and the soldiers shifted. The crowds went almost quiet as the rank leaders shouted out orders. The soldiers tightened their ranks, and row by row they moved through the gate.

In the stories of Marle’s childhood, war-bound knights gazed forward with a forcefulness that spoke of their resolute nature. But the young men in front of her were leaving with wide eyes and clenched mouths, their fear apparent. The soldier who’d accepted Marle’s rose glanced back at her, his gaze somewhat pleading. But for what, she didn’t know. She watched him helplessly until he disappeared through the gates. With a shiver, she wondered if he’d come through them again drunk on victory or broken from the horrors he’d seen.

Or at all.

 

The wind pulled at Marle’s dress as she walked across the bridge to Ashtear Island. A briny spray kissed her face, and she breathed in deeply and exhaled to release the tension from earlier. Overhead, the gulls wheeled and soared in the gauzy light of the sun still hidden behind thick clouds. Marle craned her head back like a child and watched. She pulled her hair loose from its bun and let it whip around her neck and over her face. Her fingers itched with the need to draw the beauty around her, to capture something good about the morning, but she hadn’t brought her sketchpad or charcoals. With much effort, she tore herself away from the scene.

No one answered when she knocked at the Ashtear’s door. Rocking on her heels and toes, she waited a few moments. Perhaps they’d gone into town. She knocked on the door again, louder. This time she heard a muffled voice. “I’m busy. Come back in two weeks.”

“Lucca,” said Marle. “It’s me. I need to talk to you.”

She detected a slight shuffling at the door, but it didn’t open. “Marle, I can’t right now,” Lucca said. “I’ll come by the castle another time.”

Marle frowned at the unexpected response. _Why is she being so difficult?_ “Lucca, when I return to the castle, Constance is not going to let me see the outside of my room, let alone have friends over. Please, it’s important.” When she was answered with silence, she slammed her hand against the door over and over. “Lucca, Lucca, Lucca, Lucca, Lucca!”

The door opened so fast that Marle had to pull back to avoid accidentally hitting Lucca in the face. “Stop,” Lucca hissed. “My parents are still asleep.”

Lucca also could have used a few more hours of rest, it seemed. She slumped against the door as though it was the only thing holding her up. Her face was pale and pinched, and her rumpled shirt was the same one she’d worn two days ago. Odd, even by Lucca standards.

“May I come in?” Marle asked with feigned innocence.

Lucca sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

When Marle shook her head, Lucca moved out of the way. “Fine, but I’m doing this under duress.”

“Seems like that’s how I do everything lately.”

Lucca rubbed at her left eye wearily. “Your dad again, huh?”

“Yeah.” Marie’s mouth opened slightly as she took in the state of the room. While the Ashtear’s home was usually filled with the signs of a lively household—books on the counters, a few gadgets here and there, a dirty plate on Taban’s desk—it now looked as though Lucca’s entire library had exploded. Papers and plans covered the counters, and around the pile of cushions on the floor were dozens of open books, tools, and grotesquely bent pieces of metal.

Marle carefully made her way through the mess and seated herself on the cushion throne. “Wow, what are you making?” She reached out her hand to take a look at what seemed like an oddly shaped handle.

“Don’t touch that!” Lucca cried. Startled, Marle jerked her hand back. “Sorry,” Lucca said. She shooed Marle out of the seat. “It’s just that it took me all night to get everything in the order I needed, and some of the components are still a bit. . . fragile.”

Marle plunked down on Taban’s overstuffed armchair. “What is all this? Is this for our Porre plan? I knew you’d have it all figured out!”

“No, it’s something else. It’s a long story.” Lucca sat down on the cushions and began moving the parts around her into more organized piles. “You wanted to talk. What’s wrong?”

Marie played with the end of her hair as she carefully considered her next words. “I think I finally know why Daddy hasn’t acknowledged Crono a—”

Lucca dropped the metal tube she’d been holding and clasped her hands over her ears. “Nope. No relationship talk.”

“But it’s not relationship talk! Well, not completely.”

Lucca lowered her hands, but she regarded Marle with narrowed eyes. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a lot or a little. You know I can’t be impartial. You’re both my friends. I don’t want to get involved and forced to take sides.”

 _And whose side would you take, Lucca?_ Marle suspected the answer wouldn’t be hers. She didn’t exactly blame Lucca for favouring Crono over her; a decade of close friendship surely trumped the few months Marie had spent with them. But she’d hoped that she’d built up at least a foundation of support she could stand on when her world was falling apart. “No wonder you’re so grumpy all the time, Lucca,” Marie said, forcing her tone to stay light. “Life isn’t like one of your experiments. Not everything can be objective.”

“A girl can dream.”

“Dream away. In the meantime, I really need your advice.”

Lucca rolled her eyes skyward in a way that reminded Marle of Crono's mother. “Marle, this was the only thing I asked. I really don’t want to talk about you or Crono behind your backs. And I’m certainly not qualified to give relationship advice. Just talk to him about whatever's bothering you. He’ll understand and want to help.”

Marie just shook her head. She didn’t want to discuss the proposal with Crono for exactly that reason. The situation called for a more subtle touch. She couldn’t risk losing Choras's support or disappointing her father again.

A heavy silence settled between them. As Marle regarded the jumble of gear around her, a dark suspicion encroached on all thoughts of marriage proposals. The metal gleamed coldly in the work lights. “All of this . . . it’s for Daddy, isn’t it?” she said finally.

Picking up a screwdriver, Lucca fiddled with one of the contraptions. “Yes.”

“But—”

“He sent an engineer to ask my father and me to work on some pieces for the army. I’m good at making things, so how could I refuse? Besides, it’s only for a few weeks.”

Marle watched Lucca carefully. The inventor spoke too casually, and Marle suspected this wasn’t the full story. But she repressed the urge to ask for more. Personal questions only made Lucca shut down.

“I’ve been researching the situation in Porre,” Lucca said after a few moments. “I’ve pored over the new history of Guardia. I checked family trees and went over all my notes on discrepancies between our old timeline and this one. Although we made changes, none of them explain this drastic shift in Porre. They should have been more peaceful, if anything. They have plenty of support from Guardia and a generous, kind mayor. The change seems almost like—”

“Magic.”

Lucca nodded. “You know, before, I would have laughed at that statement. But now I wonder.”

Picking at a thread on the armchair, Marle furrowed her brow as she tried to make sense of the situation. “But the Gates have been closed since we defeated Lavos. Could someone else have another time machine?”

“No, I think we would have known about it. Balthazar was the only person with the intelligence and skills to make one.”

“Except you.” Marle winked.

But instead of grinning, Lucca avoided Marle’s gaze and tousled her hair in what looked to be frustration. “The telepod wasn’t exactly a time machine, even if we ended up using it as one.”

“Modesty, Lucca? You figured out how to control the Gates. You’re a genius!”

“Yes, well, even a genius needs some information to go on to create a plan.”

Marle leaned forward. “Okay, so we don’t know the whys, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do something. We still have Epoch.”

“We are not going back in time.” Lucca made a curt slashing motion in the air with her screwdriver. “Especially not without more concrete evidence. We did that before, and we ended up awakening Lavos too early. Not to mention getting Crono killed.”

“But we saved Crono and ended the war between the humans and Mystics. We saved the future.”

“But we may have also ruined our present.”

Lucca was right. She was always right. There had been no hints of rebellion in the old timeline. Marle’s father had worked hard to maintain good terms with the other nations. If she, Lucca, and Crono were going to save their present, she needed to provide better ideas.

With a start, she remembered what she’d heard in the chapel. “I heard a guard mention something called the Raven. Maybe it’s someone important to the rebellion. The leader of the envoy did wear a mask with feathers on it.”

“The Raven?” Lucca’s hands paused for a moment, hovering on the wire she was bending. “Maybe they’re related.” The fluid motions returned. “But none of my historical research discussed someone named the Raven. Whoever this person is, only the king and a privileged few know.” Lucca kept her eyes on the wire, but Marle saw them flicker in her direction.

 _But not you._ The accusation surrounded Marle, as suffocating as the people in town that morning. She wanted to say something. Defend herself. But she felt clogged.

Her cheeks heated with shame. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t live up to expectations. Here she was, disobeying her father and shirking her royal duties to see a friend. A friend who was disappointed in her for not having the information she needed. Information that Marle couldn’t get because she had neglected her duties for so long and proven unreliable as a princess.

Silence settled between the two girls, magnifying the soft clicks of metal on metal as Lucca worked. Marle watched the inventor’s hands move with precision. Even when she seemed unsure, Lucca still worked with confidence, as though believing that her next move would be the right one. She’d figured out how to use her brainpower to her advantage. But Marle didn’t have any useful talents. Sure, she could draw and paint better than anyone else she’d met, but that wouldn’t do them any good. She racked her brain. There had to be some other way she could help them figure out what was happening In Porre. Perhaps if she could get Lucca information directly from the source . . .

Her heart dropped. She didn’t need a talent. There was one other way she’d be taken seriously by her father and the council.

Marle jumped up, accidentally pushing the armchair back a few inches. It screeched across the wooden floor.

Lucca dropped the tool she was holding. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I just realized how I can help," Marle said. "Lucca, if I get you more information about Porre and its leader, will you at least promise to help me think of a plan to fix everything?”

Lucca pushed back her bangs. “I need to focus on this commission, but sure, after that I’ll help you. But—“

The door to the kitchen opened, and Taban entered, his body still heavy with sleep. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Morning, ladies. Marle, you staying for pancakes?”

The offer pulled enticingly at Marle, but she shook her head. If she stayed, she might change her mind. “Thank you, Taban, but no, I have to get back to the castle.” She tried to speak and move normally, but her hands trembled. She felt like a banner snapping in the wind.

“Wait,” Lucca said, a warning in her voice. “What are you planning?”

Pausing at the door, Marle looked back at Lucca and Taban. “If you can use your inventing skills to help Guardia, then maybe I can use my status to do the same. It’s time to see what Princess Nadia can do.”


	6. Update

Happy new year, everyone!

Since it's a new year, I thought I'd provide an update on this story. Although I haven't updated in a while, I am still working on it. I had to take a few weeks off due to a crazy schedule, but it's now back to normal.

My original plan was to write a few chapters, edit them, and post as I go along. I have an outline for the entire novel, so I thought things wouldn't change much. But as I write, I'm realizing that some details and subplots are shifting unexpectedly--but for the better. It's left me with a choice: should I continue posting irregular, okay content now, or should I wait until the entire first draft is completed and edited, and post on a weekly basis?

I've decided to go with the latter option. I'd rather provide a well-written story that I'm not embarrassed to post for people to read. I also want to get into a regular posting schedule, and having the entire piece completed first will allow me to do that.

My plan is to start posting in the spring, probably April or May. I'll keep the original chapters online but will update them once I post chapters 6 and 7. If the earlier chapters have changed much (which I don't anticipate), I'll let you know in the chapter 7 notes.

Sorry for the delay, and thanks to everyone who's read and commented so far. I'm looking forward to completing this project, and I hope you enjoy it!


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